Down by Law

Book 1: Throwback Diaries

by Ni-Ni Simone

Genres: YA Social Themes

Synopsis

Lesson #1: You come for me, I come back even harder for you. Fair exchange. No robberies. Isis Carter got schooled early on in surviving the streets. When some girls put a beatdown on her, she took back what was hers. When her brother was killed and her mom, Queenie, bailed, Isis fought to stay strong. And when her dad abandoned her for his new family, sixteen-year-old Isis buried the hurt by looking out for herself—and hookin’ up with bad boy Fresh…until a run-in with the law shatters Isis’s world and threatens to destroy her future. Now the only person Isis can rely on is herself…until her secret crush K-Rock steps in. But when Isis lets her guard down, will she be given a second chance to get her life straight or will it cost her everything?

Release date: July 28, 2015

Publisher: Dafina Young Adult

Print pages: 288

Sample

All I could do was get off the ground and run.

No lookin’ back.

No time to hook off on nobody.

Just zoom through the streets of Newark until I reached the corner of Muhammad Ali and Martin Luther King Boulevard and made a mad dash for Douglas Gardens. Better known as Da Bricks. Twenty L-shaped, seven-story buildings that took up four blocks, connected by a courtyard. To the right was a basketball hoop. No net. Just a rim. To the left was a row of ten rusted clotheslines, where the only thing that hung safely was a beat-up pair of white Converses.

There were begging-behind crackheads er’where, scratching they necks, carrying they snotty-nose babies on they hips. And dope fiends who stood up, nodded out, but never fell down.

There were some people leavin’ out for work. And some just coming in; rushing straight from the bus stop to they apartment. Never speaking to nobody. Never looking no other way but straight. Never coming back outside until the next day.

Old ladies hung out the window and cussed out anybody making noise.

Winos sat on the stoops and complained about yesterday, every day.

Somebody’s boom box echoed through the air. And another somebody was spittin’ rhymes.

Kids raced behind the ice cream truck like roaches who’d seen the light.

Fresh ballers had a pot of money at their side while they rolled dice.

B-Boys break danced, making the cardboard come alive.

Then there was me. Twelve-year-old Isis. Five feet even. Short arms. Short legs. Skin the color of honey. A too-big booty bouncing. And size six feet zippin’ er’thing, as I burst into building one-seventy-two, rushed up the pissy stairway, and swore that once I got inside, to apartment three-twenty-five, I was never gon’ come back out. Ever.

“What da hell wrong witchu?” Daddy stood up and slammed both hands on the kitchen table as I clung to his waist and buried my head into his side. My mother, Queenie, and brother, Face, did they best to stop the guns, blades, and bricks of rock that lay on the glass table top from sliding to the floor.

“Isis. You hear me?” Daddy lifted my chin.

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I wiped snot with the back of my bruised and trembling hand.

Queenie frowned. Shoved a hand up on her hip. “Ain’t nuttin’ wrong wit’ this lil high yellow heifer.” She snorted and popped her full lips. “’Cept she selfish as the day is long. Mannish. Spoiled. And she stay lookin’ for a reason to tear up our groove and bust up our party. But I tell ya what: Had my rock hit the floor, or one of them guns went off, you was gon’ have a reason for dem tears. Now tell us what happened to you!”

“Relax, Queenie,” Daddy said sternly. “Now, baby girl—”

“Baby?” Queenie sucked her teeth. “This strumpet ain’t no baby. When I was her age, I was ripe, ready, and on my own. Baby? Puhlease. Ain’t no dang babies around here. Now, Isis, you heard what I said—”

“Pop! Queenie!” My fourteen-year-old brother, Montez—who we called Schooly ’cause Queenie said it didn’t matter that he was a touch of retarded, he was still the smartest black man she knew—bolted into the room. “Yvette is at the door crying and saying some chicks jumped and jacked Isis for her Shell Toe Adidas and her dookie chain.”

“And my neon jelly bracelets!” Yvette’s quivering voice squeaked in from the hallway.

I could feel all eyes land on me.

Before I could decide what to do, Face stuffed a nine at his side.

“Sit down,” Queenie said. “And put that gun back on the table.”

“But Queenie,” he pressed.

“What did I say?!”

He put the gun back and Queenie walked over to me. She slung me around, and my wet lashes kissed the base of her brown neck.

“You let some hos do what to you?” She shoved me into the corner and sank her elbow into my throat, pinning me against the wall. The heels of my bare feet was in the air and the tips of my toes just swept the floor.

My heart raced.

Rocks filled my mouth.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t think.

All I could do was suck up snot and do my best to not to choke on it.

Queenie pressed her elbow deeper into my throat, causin’ me to gag. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you! You out there in the street lettin’ some hos disrespect you?”

I lifted my gaze to meet hers and spotted a gleamin’ blade in her right hand. My eyes sprang wide and drops of piss drowned the seat of my panties.

I froze.

She leaned into my ear. “I asked you a question.”

Silence.

“Answer me!”

“I can’t . . . breathe. . . .”

She eased the pressure of her elbow a little, just enough so that I could speak but not too much where I could move. I licked the salty tears that ran over my lips. My stomach bubbled and I knew at any moment Queenie’s elbow would be speckled orange.

I hesitated. “They-they-they-they-they . . . snuck us. We was mindin’ our business and they stole on me. All me and Yvette was doin’ was walkin’ down the street and some chicks came outta nowhere. I swear to God, Queenie, I didn’t see ’em comin’.”

“Who was it?”

My eyes shifted from hers to the floor. “I don’t know.” I shrugged. Then looked back at her.

Queenie eyed me from my torn neon-pink and stretched-neck T-shirt, to my skin-tight Jordache jeans. Her thin neck turned into a road map of thumping veins and her glare burned its way through me.

I chewed the corner of my bottom lip.

Queenie was going to kill me. Question was: when?

I glanced over at a boney and freckle-faced Schooly, whose sunken chestnut eyes revealed that he was petrified. He was nothing like our eighteen-year-old brother, Ezekiel Jr., who up until he saw the movie Scarface we’d called Lil Zeke. Now we had to call him Face.

Face would try anything once, including runnin’ up on Queenie. But Schooly . . . Schooly was slow. A straight pussy. Always went to school. Never smoked weed. Never did no licks wit’ us. Never got in no trouble. Never talked back. And with his twisted left leg that dragged, there was no way he was gon’ leap over here and save me.

I looked toward the doorway. A teary-eyed Yvette stood peekin’ into the kitchen. Another useless one.

Queenie snatched my face around. “As much as you stay fightin’ in school and I have to cuss the teacher out. And as much as you ’round here tryna fly kick Face in the chest and he makes two of you, ain’t no way you got robbed. You musta gave it to ’em.”

“Nah-uhn,” I spat, shaking my head. More tears filled my eyes. “They jacked us. At the store. Soon’s we walked out the door. Knocked Yvette out cold. Slapped me to the ground and straight jacked me for er’thang. I was looking fresh to def too.”

I scanned Queenie’s eyes. They narrowed to icy green slits. She pointed the tip of the blade lightly into my jugular and I held my breath.

Hot specks of spit checkered my face as she said, “One thing I can’t stand is somebody tryna play me. You must want me to slice your lil lyin’ throat open and whip yo’ fresh lil—”

“Okay. Okay. Just pleeeeeeeeease don’t kill me. Pleeeeeeeease. Queenie. See ummm, what had happen was, ummm—I was in a break-dancin’ battle—” My heart raced and my body dripped with sweat. Queenie hated break dancin’. “And the prize was a Doug E. Fresh cassette tape.” And she hated cassette tapes. She was stuck on forty-fives and eight-tracks. “But I wanted that tape baaaaaad. So I killed it on the cardboard. And this girl Aiesha and her crew got mad ’cause I won.”

“And . . .”

“I called ’em fake break-dancin’ hos. I gave ’em the middle finger and told ’em to take they ugly behinds home. But. That didn’t give ’em no reason to jack us!”

“And they was bigger than us!” Yvette tossed in. “Waaaaaaay bigger than us!”

“I know you ain’t care about no size?!” Queenie snapped, grimacin’ at me. “I know you ain’t stand out there and let some ho beat you down ’cause she was big?!”

“No!” I practically shook my head off. “Size don’t matter to me. ’Cause I woulda left they lungs on the sidewalk. But. It was four of them and only two of us. It wasn’t a fair one, Queenie.” Fresh tears sprang from my eyes. “Now I don’t have nothin’. Not my favorite sneakers. Not my chain. And not my tape. How I’ma be fly and jacked? That’s bad. Real bad. Hella bad.”

“And where they jack you at?”

I sucked in a breath. Slowly eased it outta the side of my mouth. “We dipped off.”

“Where?”

I hesitated. “Umm . . . we was in Weequahic—” Before I could finish, Queenie slapped me so hard that my neck whipped to the left and a gush of spit kicked its way through my lips.

She’d told me a million times to stay outta the park. That too many girls was raped and left floatin’ face down in the lake. But... I was nowhere near the lake. The break-dancin’ battles was always on the playground. I started to tell her that, but judging by the look on her face, I didn’t think now would be a good time.

Besides, it was no secret that Queenie hated me. Before I came burstin’ through her golden coochie, she’d been daddy’s bottom treat, beatin’ the concrete and keepin’ his stable of hos tight just to prove her love. But. Once she gave birth to me, the hustle changed.

“A’ight. That’s enough, Queenie,” Daddy said, finally saving my life. “Get that blade outta my baby’s face and don’t slap her no more.”

“Zeke—”

He shot her a look. The same look he’d given her the other night when he’d told her to shut up. She hadn’t listened. So he’d wrapped his belt around her neck, dragged her around the room, and made her be quiet. “I said that’s enough. Now come here, baby girl.”

Queenie grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me over to Daddy. He pulled me into his lap and wiped my face and neck with the palm of his hand. “Did you forget who you is?”

Silence.

“Answer me.”

I blinked back tears and sniffed. “No. I ain’t forget.”

“Well, it’s lookin’ that way to me. You lettin’ somebody punk you in the street.”

“I ain’t forget, Daddy.”

“Then talk to me. Lay it down fo’ me. Who is Isis Carter?”

I sucked up snot. “Yo’ princess. Yo’ baby girl, and I ain’t never s’pose to be scared.”

“And why is that?” Queenie interjected.

“ ’Cause I’m betta than that.”

“And . . . ?” Daddy pressed.

“I know my rep is er’thing. That’s why I know how to shoot my own gun and fight my own fight—”

“Damn skippy.” Queenie beamed.

Daddy continued, “Then you already know you gon’ have to go back out there and handle this on ya own.”

Silence.

“Now, go change them clothes and getchu a bat—”

“A bat? Oh, hell no. She gon’ take this blade.” Queenie placed the shiny metal in the palm of my hand.

My eyes bulged and my heart sank to my feet. I’d been in a whole lotta throwdowns, but this was a whole other level.

“This is war,” Queenie spat. “So you may as well get your mind right. ’Cause you goin’ back out there. And if you come back in here wit’ out them tennis shoes, that gold chain, and that Doug E. Somebody tape, then I’ma peel the high yellah black offa you.” She pointed to the pile of blades on the table. “Now try me if you want to.”

My life flashed before me. And my heart dropped through the black hole in my stomach and hid out there the whole bus ride. I kept clearing my throat and doing my all not to piss in my panties, but it seemed like er’ two minutes a little bit would ease out. And then a few minutes later a little bit more piss would come through.

Yvette sat next to me and quietly chewed on the loose meat that framed her tore-up cuticles. I tried my best not to reach over and TKO her face for making me more nervous than I had to be. “Yvette! Dang! Would you cut it out?”

“Cut what out?”

“You know what. Acting like a punk. Where is your heart?”

She sucked in a breath. “At home. I’m scared.”

“Scared? How whack is that? What, yo’ panties too tight? You got on a training bra or somethin’? You better wake up and get your life together.”

“Don’t be questioning my life! And anyway, what about you? ’Cause earlier when they jacked you, you pissed all in your pants. And don’t say you didn’t ’cause when you took off runnin’ your whole ass was wet. And it’s wet again.” She pointed to my lap.

“Lies! This is sweat. I ain’t neva pissed on myself! I was just nervous. Caught off guard. That’s all! But now I got my mind right.”

“I hope so. And I hope when you go to one-two Aiesha, you don’t miss.”

Chills pricked through me and I heaved at the thought. “Is you crazy? Don’t be sayin’ that! Don’t be jinxin’ me! I ain’t gon’ miss!”

“But Aiesha’s hella big. She’s like ten feet.”

I sucked in a corner of my bottom lip and pulled in a vision of Aiesha. I could clearly see her, from her stacked blond bob to my sneakers on her feet. She wasn’t exactly ten feet. More like nine. I rolled my eyes. “And? She still can’t beat me. And anyway, it ain’t about size. It’s about heart.”

“Is you really gon’ cut her?”

I ran my tongue alongside the blade I had flush against my jaw. Truthfully: I was more comfortable with a gun. All I really knew how to do with a blade was talk without cuttin’ up my cheeks. Queenie had taught me that. But I’d never thought about using one. Until now.

“Am I really gon’ cut her? If she don’t gimme back my stuff, I’ma slice her throat.”

Yvette hesitated. “Maybe we should take it to her friends first.”

“Beatin’ down herbs ain’t the move.” I pointed into Yvette’s lap at the padlock-filled sweat sock that Queenie had given her. “You better swing that thing at the head beast in charge. Plus. You already know Queenie gon’ kill me if I come back home with nuffin’.”

Yvette nodded. “Word.”

“A’ight, then,” I said, as the bus approached our stop. I inched out of my seat, reached up, and yanked the corded buzzer. A few seconds later the bus came to a complete halt. “Time to get off. Come on, Yvette.” We walked out the bus’s back door.

I did my all to brush off any feelings of nervousness that crept up on me as we walked into the park.

“There they go,” Yvette whispered, pulling me behind the bushes.

I gasped, eased my head over the shrubs, and spotted Aiesha sitting on a swing: profiling my chain, rocking my Shell Toes, and sucking on a lollipop like she was a dime. And her two baldheaded friends each flossed in three of Yvette’s jelly bracelets, like they bought ’em.

“This. Is. My. Jam.” Aiesha hopped up and did the snake, her boom box blasting my tape. Her dumb posse laughed and, as if on cue, this whack tramp switched from the snake to the Alf dance.

I swallowed.

Yvette sniffed.

My stomach flipped.

Yvette groaned, “Issssssisssssssssss.”

“You better shut up and straighten yo’ back!” My heart raced and a sudden urge to piss threatened to drown the seat of my panties again.

Shake it off.

You got this.

We stepped out from behind the bushes and walked over to Aiesha. “Excuse you.” I placed a hard right hand up on my hip, stabbed an index finger into the air, and sent a piercing look through her. “You need to be giving me back my stuff. Now!” I cocked my neck to the left and parked it there.

Aiesha’s face lit up. She looked me over from head to toe, then fell out laughing. She laughed so hard that her body rocked and tears of joy fell from her eyes. “Ciara, Pam,” she called out to her friends. “You see this?” She pointed to me and Yvette. “Somebody better get these lil girls ’fore they get they feelins hurt again and catch another beat down.”

“Or before we jack ’em again.” Pam laughed and pointed to my feet. “’Cause them lil purple kangaroos she got on is stupid fresh.”

Aiesha agre. . .